


A Godamn Quest

by Nikolaus_Chaser



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bisexual Dean Winchester, M/M, Minor Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester, World of Warcraft - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-10
Updated: 2018-04-30
Packaged: 2018-10-30 03:38:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10868277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nikolaus_Chaser/pseuds/Nikolaus_Chaser
Summary: Dean becomes a little obsessed with World of Warcraft after his girlfriend, Cassie, dumps him.  Sam thinks he should spend less time online and more time getting out of the house and meeting new people.  As it turns out, Dean isn’t having as much trouble in that department as his brother thinks.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my May entry for the SP Rare Pair Creations Challenge. The theme was "colors" and my prompt was "Cyber Grape". For reference to the color, [click here](http://www.crayola.com/explore-colors/cyber-grape.aspx). 
> 
> This is my first time participating in the Rare Ship Creations Challenge, but it is not my first time writing Denny. I hope you guys enjoy.
> 
> Also, a quick shout out to my friend [jhoomwrites](www.jhoomwrites.tumblr.com) for beta reading this little fic here and giving me some helpful comments/suggestions. Thank you!
> 
> Please comment and leave kudos for what you think!

Sam drops his keys into the small ceramic bowl he and Dean keep by the door before tossing his coat over the back of the coach and toeing the door shut with his boot.  He sighs, tired, and glances around the empty living room.  The space is clean save for a forgotten paper plate covered in crusted marinara sauce and an empty beer bottle, both of which he picks up and carries to the kitchen to dispose of.  He knows his brother is home; he’s fairly certain everybody on their floor knows his brother is home considering the volume at which he is shouting from his bedroom— urgent directions, desperate pleas for help and a fair amount of obscenities are coming from the end of the hallway every few seconds, and Sam doesn’t have to check to know Dean is playing that stupid online wizarding game again.

It’s not that Sam has anything against World of Warcraft.  Hell, he’s even played it himself a few times (though he will never admit it to Dean) and he enjoyed it.  It’s a cool game, and if he ever has some spare time he could probably see himself getting into it.  As it is now though, Sam barely has time to breath between college, his internship, his part-time job as a paralegal and spending time with his recently-made fiancé Jessica.

But even if he  _ does _ find the time to play, Sam will never become as obsessed with the game as Dean is. Ever since Cassie dumped him last month Dean has been spending so much time playing that game, it’s unhealthy.  Sam keeps telling him he needs to get a girlfriend—a boyfriend, even—and he and Jess have both exhausted themselves setting up blind dates for Dean.  All of which inevitably fail and see Dean returning to the cavern of his room, a bowl of pasta in his lap and headphones on his ears, shouting at his guild mates through the microphone and tapping away at his keyboard.  Sam has considered staging an intervention multiple times, but Dean’s obsession with the game at least hasn’t been  _ that  _ detrimental to his “real” life to warrant such drastic measures.  Besides driving his brother crazy, Dean is holding down his job at Sandover Bridge & Iron—maybe doing more than just holding it down, if his boss’s claims of an upcoming promotion are true— and he’s building up a decent chunk of savings in his bank account while helping to pay Sam’s college tuition.

So… Maybe Sam shouldn’t complain so much after all.  He drops the sticky paper plate into the trash can and recycles the beer bottle, snagging a carton of milk from the fridge on his way past and pouring himself a tall glass.  He’s on his second or third gulp when he hears a particularly excited exclamation from the other room (“ _ Oh FUCK!  Don’t fucking move, I’ll hit him with Death Touch and that should give me enough time to—“ _ ) the dialogue breaks off after that, but Sam can only assume something bad happened because a few moments later Dean is cursing again, loud enough that the neighbors might actually complain.  And yes, it has happened before.  Sam lets out a heavy sigh and sets his half-finished glass of milk down on the counter, trudging his way to his brother’s room and knocking on the door.  There’s no response, of course, because Dean is too busy yelling into his headset to hear anything besides his own voice.  Sam pushes the door open and rolls his eyes at the sight before him.

His brother is sitting at his desk in nothing but his boxer shorts and his headset, keyboard propped in his lap and half-empty beer bottle propped on his desk beside an open bag of chips.  Sam wonders sometimes how his brother can stomach the amount of crap he eats, but Dean is more muscular than he is (and can kick his ass in a wrestling match, apparently) so he doesn’t say anything about his brother’s diet anymore.  Well, doesn’t say _ much _ .  It’s still his job as a little brother to make fun of the stupid shit Dean does.

Like this, for instance.

“Dude, shut the fuck up!” Sam cries over the sound of his brother’s continued shouting, and when even that fails to get his attention he rolls his eyes, reaching down and prying his shoe from his foot.  He chucks it and Dean’s back and his brother lurches forward, cursing loudly and glaring at Sam. He yanks his headset off.

“What the hell, man?”

“You’re being  _ really loud _ , Dean.  Someone is going to call the cops again!” Sam protests, crossing his arms over his chest.  Dean narrows his eyes at Sam for a second before he lets out a quiet snort and smirks. “What?”

“You’ve got a milk-stache,” Dean laughs, eyes crinkling at the corners.  Sam scoffs and rolls his eyes dramatically, wiping his upper lip with the back of his hand.  He feels his cheeks darken when his hand draws back wet, but after a moment he regains his composure and gestures emphatically at Dean’s body.

“Yeah, well, at least I’m wearing  _ clothes.   _ Did you even put on pants today, Dean?”

“It’s my day off, bitch,” Dean replies haughtily, returning his attention to his game and letting out a horrified squawk when he sees his avatar has been struck by an arrow in the thirty seconds he turned his attention from the screen, and his health points are now drained significantly.  He yanks his headset back on as Sam laughs behind him.

“Serves you right, jerk,” he mutters, to which Dean flips him off.

“Shut up and go away,” he snaps, then pauses for a moment before letting out a low chuckle and saying, in an oddly gentle tone, “No, Benny, wasn’t talking to you.  Just my brother being a shit.  Would you mind givin’ me a hand here, though?  I got distracted and I’m about to get taken out by a Level  _ Twenty-Two _ .” Dean had been proudly boasting to Sam all week how he’d made it to Level Fifty-Nine.  Not that he really even cared.  But Sam knew for sure it would be a huge blow to his brother’s ego to be taken out by a player who was at such a lower level than he was.

Sam inched closer, ignoring Dean’s order to go away for the possibility of witnessing his big brother’s defeat.  Not that he was rooting for the other guy, but it would be a pretty funny story to tell all their friends how Dean was defeated in a PvP against a Level Twenty-two.  It would piss Dean off, anyway.

Suddenly another avatar was riding over to Dean—who he recognized by his username  _ Impala67 _ — on a horse, and he quickly cast a Defense Spell around Dean before hopping down from the horse and walking towards him.  His own username glowed in yellow letters below his armored body— _ CajunVampire— _ and Sam narrowed his eyes as he knelt beside Dean’s avatar and removed a pouch from his bag.  From it he pulled a pixelized little blob of what looked like bright purple grapes, holding them up in the air before they disappeared.  A moment later Dean’s health point bar shot up to nearly 100%, and a notification popped up in the corner of the screen that read  _ Azsunian Grapes administered by CajunVampire.   _ He cheered triumphantly into his headset, so suddenly that Sam jumped back in surprise.  Dean shot him a devious grin and Sam rolled his eyes, knocking his brother on the shoulder.

“I’m going to go put a chicken in the oven.  Don’t let your boyfriend feed you too many  _ cyber grapes _ before dinner, huh?”

Dean’s eyes go wide and he spins wildly to look at Sam, but his brother is already gone by the time he turns around.  Damn yellow bastard.  There’s an awkward silence for a few moments, where Dean prays and prays despite not being a very religious guy that nobody heard what Sam said, before he hears a low rumble of laughter on the other end of the line.

“Well, Cher, I’ll actually have your brother know that I’m a professionally trained chef, so if I was gonna be fillin’ you up on anything, it would pro’lly be more than a few little grapes.”

Dean sputters, face going beet red, and he suddenly feels very naked in just his boxers no matter the fact that nobody in his guild can see what he’s wearing.  He hears Charlie let out a gleeful squeal, obviously amused at Dean’s expense, and he feels himself flush with embarrassment and anger from head to toe.

“I don’t—I wasn’t—Is that a—” Dean huffs, closing his eyes.  Men always make him flustered so much easier than women do.  Especially Benny, with his thick Louisiana drawl and his fucking  _ cyber grapes _ .  Dean swallows, voice going up an octave or two as he replies, pathetically, “Yeah, Benny?  You’d like to make me dinner, would ya?”

“Can you guys save your flirting for your DM’s?  We’re trying to finish a  _ goddamn quest  _ here!” Jo’s voice comes through the tinny speaker as an aggravated growl, and Dean chuckles as he shoots off another Defense Spell in their opponent’s direction.

“Hey, watch your language, Jo.  I’ve got Ellen’s number in my phone and I’m not afraid to use it.”

“Shut the fuck up,” she spits back, and everyone on the line laughs.  Dean is interrupted in his teasing by a message that suddenly pops up in the corner of his screen, and he’s genuinely surprised to see that  _ CajunVampire  _ has messaged him privately.

**_Direct Message_ **

**_CajunVampire: If you’re ever in Orleans, give me a call. I make a mean shrimp gumbo ;) 504 377 2190_ **

Dean smiles, and picks up his cell phone to install the new contact.  He wonders how hard it might be to convince Adler to plan Sandover’s regional training conference to be held at the New Orleans branch office this year.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean is supposed to be listening to whatever spiel the Sandover CFO is giving about Quarterly Reports and Revenue Recognition, but he isn’t.  He and all of his fellow executives from around the country are sitting in a conference room listening to this and that important executive drone on and on about the “prosperity of the company”.   But he can’t concentrate on anything they are saying. He’s got his hands under the table, 22-foot ornately carved oak circle that probably cost the company at least $217,000, and he’s excitedly tapping away at his phone as he converses via text message with his online friend, Benny Lafitte.

When the Vice President of Dean’s Sandover Branch asked the executive employees to put in bids for this year’s location of the Regional Training Conference, Dean thought it a long shot that New Orleans would ever be selected.  His fellow execs were putting in loftier suggestions, like Hawaii and Las Vegas, and there was no way in Dean’s mind that his singular suggestion would be chosen. And yet here they are, at the New Orleans Ernest N. Morial Convention Center, being put up by Sandover for three days and three nights in a five star hotel.

After talks end for the day, a whole group of execs are going to a Jazz Bar to celebrate and hang out.  Dean was invited to come along, of course, but he has respectfully declined. He has other, more exciting plans.

Because he is finally going to meet Benny.  After months of texting and video chatting, they are finally going to meet.  And yes, they are probably going to fuck. And even more importantly,  _ yes _ , Dean is finally going to get to try Benny’s famous shrimp gumbo.

“Dude,” Charlie leans back surreptitiously in her seat, whispering to him, “Adler is staring right at you.  Put your phone away.”

Dean nods to his assistant and stuffs his phone in his pocket.  He and Benny weren’t talking about anything important anyway: just mindless flirting to pass the time between now and 6:00: when Dean will be meeting Benny for the first time at his restaurant.  He’s so excited he can’t stop bouncing his leg under the table, and Charlie looks like she’s just about ready to rip his leg off. He smiles apologetically at her, and she rolls her eyes fondly. Yeah, she knows all about his stupid internet crush.  Dean is pretty sure she may have even had a hand in getting New Orleans chosen as the location for this conference, but those suspicions have been neither confirmed nor denied by his unscrupulous assistant-slash-best-friend.

By the time Dean has left the conference, he hires a car to take him to Benny’s restaurant:  à la Gator.  He listens to the driver rave about their delicious alligator skewers for the entire drive to the restaurant, and he makes Dean promise to try them when he gets there.  Kindly, Dean agrees. Benny promised that he was going to give Dean the ‘Real Orleans Experience’, and whatever that means, he’s pretty sure Benny is at least going to have a sample platter prepared for him when he arrives.  He hopes so, anyway, because Dean chinsed on lunch in preparation for a big dinner and now he is famished.

The restaurant is bustling when he arrives.  A hostess dressed in a puffy white blouse and a red skirt greets him at the door and asks him for his name and reservation number.  Dean blinks in confusion.

“Uh… I didn’t know-- I didn’t make a reservation.  I’m here to see--”

“Okay sir, that’s alright.  We’re a little packed right now, but if you’d like I can find a seat for you at the bar and we’ll see about getting you a table.  What’s the party name?”

“Um, my name is Dean.” A pause.  “Winche--”

“Oh my  _ gosh _ , you’re Dean?” the hostess cries, dropping the menu she’d been holding and throwing her hands up into the air.  A few people sitting at tables nearby turn and stare at the commotion, but the girl pays them no mind. She reaches out and grabs Dean’s hand to enthusiastically shake, then begins tugging him through the restaurant and towards the kitchens.  “Holy crap, you have  _ no idea _ how much my Uncle Benny has been talking about you these past few weeks.  Dean this, Dean that. All good things, of course,” she turns back and flashes him a bright smile. “I’m Elizabeth, by the way.  You can call me Liz.”

Dean smiles a little timidly.  “Thanks, Liz. Is… Where is your Uncle, anyway?  He didn’t tell me I needed a reservation.”

Elizabeth rolls her eyes.  “That’s ‘cause you don’t, silly.  You’ll be eatin’ in the kitchen! Now,” she stops walking, and Dean sees now that they are standing in front of a large, swinging black door.  She smiles brightly and pats Dean on the shoulder. “I’ve got to get back to the front. But you have fun,” she says, and she leaves him there standing like a fool.  He nearly topples over next when the door swings open, hitting him in the face, and a stress-looking waiter bustles right on past without a second look. Rubbing his temple, Dean pushes his way through the door and walks into what is probably the busiest, best-smelling kitchen he’s ever been in in his life.

“2 bowls of gumbo and an order of oysters for Table 3.  We gotta remake this batch of crawfish, they’re overcooked.”  Dean recognizes that voice from the dozens of phone calls and video chats he and Benny have shared over the past few months, and he follows it straight to the back of the kitchen.  Just as he’s coming around the bend Benny turns, and when he sees Dean an awesome combination of emotions plays out over his face. First surprise and then, immediately after, an expression of pure glee.  He drops the empty pot he was carrying onto the nearest stovetop, then steps forward and throws his arms around Dean’s shoulders.

“Dean!  You’re early,” he says, and Dean hugs him back, hands wrapped tight around the bear of a man.  Benny pulls away after quite a few seconds, and Dean opens his mouth to say that he’s not early-- they agreed on 6:30 for dinner and now is 6:30-- but he can’t get a word out before Benny swoops forward and captures his mouth in a hard, ravenous kiss.  Dean grunts and moans, fingers clawing at Benny’s back, and he quickly succumb to the force of Benny’s tongue pushing into his mouth and taking, taking, taking.

When they break apart, Dean is in a daze, and he isn’t even sure really whose speaking when he hears someone say in his own voice, “I didn’t know that we were skipping dinner and going straight to dessert.”

Benny laughs, head thrown back and his entire body moving with it.  “I have been waitin’ for 6 months to do that

Dean grins and leans his body forward, hungry for more contact, for another kiss.  “Well, I’m here now. What’re you waiting for?”

Benny huffs, shakes his head and pulls Dean in for another kiss.  Forget the shrimp gumbo. No matter how delicious it may be, it can’t possibly compete with the taste of Benny’s lips and the scratch of his beard against Dean’s chin when they kiss with this much passion.   
  



End file.
